


Wake the Dead

by ObviouslyIronman (themvampwrites)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Walking Dead, zombies - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, if you type zombie enough times it doesnt look like a word anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themvampwrites/pseuds/ObviouslyIronman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete brings a body to Patrick's door at 4 in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Four in the morning is a very ungodly hour to bang on someone's door. Four in the morning is a very ungodly hour to do anything, actually. But banging on someone's door might be the biggest no no. The only reason anyone should be able to bang as loud as they can on someone's door at four in the morning is if something important happened.  

“I’m coming, I’m coming..” Patrick mumbled as he made his way from his room to his door. “Someone had better have died,” he said before sleepily yanking open the door. What he saw outside his door made him take a step back. He almost closed the door again.

“It’s a good thing someone actually did,” said a bloody Pete. “I.. What the _hell,_ Pete!?” Patrick shouted and Pete quickly shook his head and covered Patrick’s mouth, which was really gross because Pete’s hand was covered in blood, “Shhhhhh!! Your whole apartment complex will hear!” “And no one spotted you _dragging_ him in here?!” Patrick yelled while pushing Pete away and wiping off his mouth. Patrick was quite obviously flipping his shit. Pete just ignored him and said, “Help me get him inside.” And Patrick did.

They stuffed the body in the coat closet next to the front door and closed the door, the lack of a corpse in the room comforting. Patrick then turned to Pete, “What. Happened.” Pete let out a slow breath that he felt like he’d been holding in for ages. “Okay so, this is an interesting story.” Patrick headed toward the couch, Pete following behind him, because interesting stories from Pete always called for a place to sit for a few hours. Pete sat down and thought about his story while Patrick went to the kitchen to grab a drink. Stuffing bodies into closets takes a lot of energy. He brought them both glasses of water and sat down next to Pete.

“Story time, Lunchbox.” Patrick watched Pete over the rim of his glass and Pete nodded, beginning, “Alright so, I was just walking home from the movies with a date and--” “You got a date?” Pete gave the amused Patrick a bored look, “Honestly, dude.” Patrick smiled, “Sorry. Continue.” Pete nodded also, “Alright. So, walking home with the chick and I take her home. ‘Cause I’m a fucking gentleman. And so then I’m walking home alone and this guy just fucking jumps up out of nowhere! And he looks pissed, dude, _pissed_. And I’m like, obviously this guy’s a drunk or something so I just walk a bit faster and he follows me.” He takes a needed drink of water and a fucking breath.

Patrick takes the opportunity to ask once Pete finally gathered enough oxygen in his lungs, “He followed you?” Pete nodded quickly, “Yes! He followed me! And I thought, ‘This guy is gonna give up trying to mug me with that fucking limp’ and just kept walking. But he started shouting at me. Scary shit, man.” Patrick bobbed his head, “Alright. So, how did he end up dead and you showing up to my door looking like the villain out of a slasher film?” “Well, he kept following me. And it was freaking me out! I turned the corner to my neighborhood and he was still on my tail. So uh.. I grabbed one of my neighbor’s metal trash can lids and smacked him in the face with it.” Pete held his hands up in a defensive way at Patrick’s horrified expression, “Okay okay! I get that that isn’t the best or wisest thing to do but he was freaking me the fuck out!!”  “So you smacked a man in the face with a trash can lid?!” “Yes! But that’s not the end of it.” Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. “He wasn’t even phased.” “What is this guy, a Terminator?” “Obviously not, seeing as he’s dead in your closet.” Patrick frowned.

Pete cleared his throat, “So then this guy makes to like, eat my face or something, which scares me even more, so I drop the fucking lid and start running. Then the dude sprints behind off behind me and I ran like, three blocks, oh shit. Then these like, gangsta dudes (“‘Gangsta dudes’?” “Shut up.”) were on the corner watching me and fucked him up. But then the dude didn’t move after a while and they got freaked and ran off. So I panicked and brought him here.”

Patrick ran a hand over his face, not really wanting to believe he was awake. But he was. He was really sitting on his couch, he was really holding a cold glass of water in his hand, and Pete was really sitting beside him going on about a dead body and asking him to stash it.

“Pete, I hope you know I can’t keep a dead body in my closet,” Patrick said finally. Pete gave a pleading look, “What!? Why not? Dude, please, do me this solid!” “‘Solid’!? A ‘solid’ is lying to the teacher back in tenth grade and saving your ass from skipping. Hiding a body in my coat closet for you goes far beyond a solid,” Patrick explained, setting his glass down so he could gesture wildly with each word. “I”ll owe you!” Pete reasoned. “Damn right you will!” Patrick exclaimed. They were silent for a while. Pete stared at his bloody hands, probably imagining what prison is like before they send you to Death Row. Every time Patrick glanced at him, he felt a pang of pain. Finally, he sighed, “Oh fine. But if police show up, I’m definitely giving you up. Then I’d only get time for hiding the body.” Pete smiled and hugged Patrick, “Thank you!” Patrick hugged him back, “Yeah yeah.”

***

 

So, that’s how Patrick came to have a body hiding in his closet. Ever since that night in September, more and more reports were coming on the news of accidents similar to Pete’s, and it was all being blamed on a virus that eats away at your brain and turns you into a little human shaped ball of rage. Every time something about it came onto the news, Patrick cast his closet a nervous glance from his couch and turned off the TV.

He felt guilty. He felt paranoid. Every time he heard a door slam from down the hall, he thought it was the police coming to arrest him. He lost sleep over it. Then he got a tweet from a fan asking about a body. He knew it was a joke, so he was going to play it off as a joke, but his nervousness shined through. No one said anything, though. Every day was lived through nervously. He stopped returning his texts to Gerard or Joe or Frank. Patrick stopped showing up for practice and Pete would visit him. He kept reassuring him that he was finding something to do with the body so Patrick wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.

He had stopped watching the news as often as he used to. Every now and then he’d flip it on for the weather or for white noise.

One night while writing on his couch with the TV on just for another sound in his apartment, he stopped writing and looked at the TV.

“There have been reports of bodies missing from their plots. It just so happens that all the bodies were patients and victims of the virus. Specialists are looking into the details--” Patrick turned off the TV. That sounds ridiculous, but it irked him. That wasn’t something that should happen. That wasn’t natural, that wasn’t possible. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his couch, taking deep breaths. Calm down, he thought, this will all blow over soon. The nights of lost sleep got to him, and he drifted off.

***

His eyes opened slowly to the sound of banging. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, realising he slid down in his sleep and was laying on the couch. The sound was coming from outside. He yawned, again someone finds themselves at his door in the middle of the night. He got  up, shuffling to the door.

“Pete, if that’s you I swear to God…” He stopped at the door and opened it. Nobody was there. He frowned and poked his head out, looking either way down the hallway. There was no one down either end and he closed his door, a puzzled look on his face. The banging continued and he froze. His breath hitched in his throat, his blood ran cold. He turned. It was coming from his coat closet.

bang...bang...bang…

It came slowly and with each one the silence in between became dreadful. He backed away from the closet by his front door.

bang... Bang...Bang…

It was steadily getting louder and Patrick started to panic. No way. No fucking way was this actually happening.

Bang...BAng….BANG!

A hole split through the door and the head of the corpse, mutilated through decomposition and gross, busted through. “Holy shit..” Was all Patrick could manage. Then the head turned up and the face was looking at him. “Ho.. Holy..” Then the head pulled back and thrust itself through the whole, the body coming along with it and breaking through the entire door. “Holy shit!!” Patrick yelped and backed away. All the way to a corner. His breath was shaky.

The reanimated corpse stood in his foyer, slumped over and giving him a mean glare. Or a hungry glare. Either one seemed to suffice. He tried reasoning with the corpse, hoping that maybe the man that used to inhabit those bones and that skin was still in there somewhere.  

“O-Okay, sir. Uhm, my name is Patrick. My friend Pete brought you here..” The corpse shifted it’s head and soon its eyes were on Patrick directly. He let out a low growl, an inhuman growl. “Yeah, he kind of almost got you killed and--” The corpse lunged toward Patrick and he screamed. Not a girly scream, but the scream a grown fucking man would give if a body you’d been hiding in your closet for a month now decided to try and latch onto your fucking arm.  He jumped away from the man (Was it still considered a man?) and lunged for his phone. He snatched it up and ran to his bathroom, the only door in his one bedroom apartment with any sort of lock. He ran through the apartment with the corpse on his heels, growling and grunting. He finally made his way to his bathroom and slammed the door shut, locking it.

He slid down onto the floor and tried to catch his breath. A scene from Zombieland played through his head. He could try what Columbus had done, but he was afraid of the scary man-thing out there and highly doubted he could go Boondock Saints on him.

The banging started again and he scooted away from the door on his bum. He bit his lip to keep from yelping and his back was met by the outside of his bathtub. He clenched his phone in his hand. His phone! He could dial 911! Holding the phone up, he made to dial the emergency number, only to be met by a cold, black screen.

“No..” He mumbled, trying to turn it on. It never came on, even with each time he tried. “No no no no no!” The banging grew louder and the door began to give.

He never expected to kiss life goodbye like this. Hiding away in his bathroom, a record half-planned on his coffee table. He didn’t think that some crazy, rage driven corpse was going to eat him alive. He always thought he’d grow to be one of the sweet old men who got sent to a home and checks out the cute nurses when they bend over. Never this.

He’s half way close to accepting his fate of being dead man chow when the banging ceases. Grunts were heard from the other side, along with the sound of blows and cracking. They were honestly horrific sounds and Patrick didn’t know what he was most afraid of, the (not really) dead guy or whatever seemed to be attacking it. Finally his ears were met with a sound thud and all the noises stopped. There was a span of heavy silence. Then the sound of boots making their way to the door on the hardwood floors. Then knocking,

“Patrick?” A voice called. He stopped breathing. “....’Trick..? Hey, you in there or not?” He recognized the voice and brought himself to his feet, almost falling over in the process. He shuffled to the door and gripped the handle tight, as if it’s the only thing that would keep him from collapsing. He opened the door and nearly collapsed anyway from what he saw.

“Ge.. Gerard?” He squinted and sure enough, there stood his 5’8” red-haired savior, covered in blood and guts while wielding a croquet bat. His eyes shifted from Gerard to the floor, where the body was currently laying, motionless. He couldn’t find the words to say at this sort of situation. What do you do after someone beats an undead man to death again? Say thank you? Kiss them? Bake them cookies with the words “thank you” spelled out on them? “I…”

“Oh. Uhm..” Gerard stepped away from the corpse and stood back, the bat resting on his shoulder, “Sorry. I got.. Blood on your floor.” Patrick snapped to and gave him a confused look, “As long as it’s not your blood I don’t give a shit!” Gerard gave a sheepish smile and coughed. He stood up straighter, “Hey, so. You remember that Walking Dead comic book I told you about?” Patrick nodded. “That shit’s real,” Gerard said quickly, his eyes looking sparkly and excited. “...Zombies ...Are real..?” “Well, yeah. I mean,” Gerard gestured to the dead man on the floor.

Patrick frowned at his feet, but then looked up, a puzzled expression on his face. “How did you know I needed help?” “Oh! Well, I’d been on my way to check on you because you haven’t been answering texts or calls for like, weeks. And then I heard this guy from outside so I decided to help.” Patrick gestured to the croquet bat, “And you just happened to have that?” “Have you looked outside?” Patrick shook his head. “You might want to,” Gerard said. Patrick went over to one of his windows and peeked through the blinds.

All over the streets were the shuffling deceased. They looked so gross, some of them even worse off than the guy he’d been stashing in his closet. Their faces looked nearly grey and dark blood was on the face and clothes of almost every one. Patrick could see a trail of still bodies lying on the ground, their heads bashed in and blood pooling around them. Patrick looked over at Gerard, who held up the bat happily. Patrick let the blinds snap closed and rubbed his arm, “Is everywhere like this?” “Pretty much. Some places not as bad, but here it’s pretty bad.”

Patrick looked at his feet. It’s real. It happened. The zombie apocalypse.


	2. Chapter 2

Gerard caught Patrick up on all that had been happening. It wasn’t much, just whatever Patrick had missed on the news.

“So, dead people aren’t really dead, and they can make you dead, too. Uh.. It’s like some kind of horror movie, except the human race has been preparing for this for so many years that it’s being managed pretty well,” Gerard said as Patrick leaned against his wall. “Are you serious? I would’ve thought it was just like the movies,” Patrick said. Gerard shook his head, “No! That’s what I’m saying, we’ve anticipated this for so long that we’re like, ‘Oh, zombies? I got this.’” Patrick found himself laughing a bit and then stopped, because wow, you don’t laugh about zombies trying to eat people’s faces.

The zombie at their feet began to move and grab for Patrick’s foot, and Gerard casually dropped the bat on it’s head. It stopped moving as it’s head was seriously bashed in. Patrick stared down at it, disgusted and thankful that Gerard had reacted as fast as he had. “So.. What now?” He asked. “Well, I was gonna bring you back to Pete’s house.” Patrick looked up with a confused frown, “Pete’s house? Why Pete’s house?” “Because that’s where we’re staying right now. I was going with Mikey to visit Pete when the government was like,” Gerard raised his hands over his head, “‘Oh shit ladies and gents, we’re finally bringing our heads out of our asses and saying you should stay home for your safety after like four days of people getting munched on.’”

"So, to Pete's, then?" Patrick asked. Gerard smiled, "To Pete's!" Patrick found himself smiling again. Even though the world was probably, maybe ending, Gerard could manage to make him laugh.

Gerard instructed Patrick to get some things together that he thought he might need at Pete’s. It felt sort of like he was getting ready for a sleepover back when he was in elementary school. Except, he wasn’t, he was getting ready to hide out at his best friend’s house until all the undead were actually dead. “You probably don’t need your entire closet of clothes.” Patrick nodded as he was shoving things into a hiking backpack that someone had bought him for his birthday many years ago. It had since then gone untouched, because Patrick doesn’t exactly hike. At least it was coming into use now. In the end, Patrick put enough things into the bag that he could barely zip it up, and it looked like he was a ninja turtle when he slipped it on. Gerard kept from laughing, because he is the master of self-control, obviously, and handed Patrick his guitar.

Patrick looked at his guitar in his hands with a confused look on his face. “What? It’s _your_ guitar,” Gerard said. Patrick rolled his eyes, “Yes, I can see that. We are actually very well acquainted, this guitar and I. What I’m wondering is why you’re handing it to me?” Gerard shrugged, “What if you get bored at Pete’s?” Patrick shrugged, “Pete has guitars, too. Not just basses.” Gerard threw his hand not holding the croquet bat in the air, “I’m just tryna help!” He then turned around and walked out of the door of the apartment. Patrick followed him, not putting the guitar down.

Patrick took his first step into the world of the undead (basically outside of his apartment), and the smell wasn’t unnoticed. It was absolutely putrid. Surely the world hadn’t spiraled that far down that quickly? To smell like rotting flesh and who knows what? Gerard looked at Patrick and smiled sheepishly at Patrick wrinkling his nose, obviously grossed out. “Yeah, right? Smells great. Wish they made a cologne of it,” Gerard joked. He led Patrick out of the apartment, sidestepping furniture and dead bodies and whatever else was strewn about the hallways. The actual outside, the one where nature was and not just outside of Patrick’s apartment, was way worse for wear. And there were people. Moving around. If they could be called people. Gerard stopped Patrick at the glass doors of the building before they walked outside.

“Sooo,” Gerard breathed out, turning to Patrick, “This is where it gets tricky, Stump. These guys are like your friend from earlier, and the best thing to do is not make eye contact. And don’t make any sudden movements. Just try to act chill and shuffle your way through and maybe we won’t have any trouble.” Patrick frowned, “Maybe?” “I’m not a professor in zombiology. I didn’t write a book on ‘How to Successfully Evade Recognition By the Undead,'" Gerard retorted. “What do we do if they do recognize us as tasty meals?” Patrick asked. Gerard pointed at his guitar, “Well, you do have a blunt object at your disposal." Patrick looked confused as he looked at his guitar, his expression changing to startled as he looked back at Gerard, "No way!" Gerard sighed, "Patrick, I'm sure if the time comes for it, you'll have a different opinion." Patrick frowned as he hugged the guitar close to himself, "Fat fuckin' chance." He was almost pouting. Gerard thought it was pretty cute. If he'd just jut that lip out a bit more...

Gerard turned from Patrick and grabbed the bar of the door, "Ready?" He asked, smiling over his shoulder. Patrick sighed and shrugged and didn't really look ready at all, but Gerard pushed open the door anyway. He walked out quietly, Patrick following slowly behind.

Patrick wanted to pinch his nose, but Gerard stopped him. The smell was awful! He silently wished for aliens to douse the planet in air freshener. Febreze would do this world good right about now. There were zombies all around them, standing there or shuffling around. They all looked like they weren't really morning people at all. And had a rough night. Remembering Gerard's advice, Patrick looked away from their faces. He followed Gerard, grabbing onto the tail of his jacket and looking down. He didn't want to risk it.

Gerard didn't notice Patrick holding onto him until Patrick stumbled and almost brought them both down. But he caught his balance and kept them both upright, walking forward and slightly smiling to himself.

They walked for a long time in complete peace. The zombies around them didn't seem to notice them. Gerard frowned, confused. Until he looked down and his clothes. They pulled a Walking Dead without meaning to. All over him and Patrick were the splattered remains of the zombie from Patrick's apartment. The zombies didn't realise Gerard and Patrick were humans because they were covered in guts! Coming to this realisation, Gerard picked up the pace, Patrick following.

Pete lived a good three blocks away from where they were now, and Gerard could hear Patrick's labored breaths over his own. They'd walked a long time and were now in need of a break. Gerard looked around for a good place to sit, somewhere away from the zombies in case their smelly disguises were to fail them. He spotted a store with its door broken into and decided that was as good a place as any to catch their breath. The two walked to the store and looked around once inside. RadioShack. "To be honest," Patrick said quietly, "I didn't know RadioShack was still in business." Gerard shrugged and looked around the store, gripping his bat tightly. The store turned up empty and Gerard sat on the floor behind the checkout counter. Patrick walked over to sit next to him, but hesitated upon seeing bloody handprints all over the counter. He swallowed what he thought was vomit and sat down next to Gerard.

“So. How’s the zombie apocalypse treating you?” Gerard asked casually, as if this happens all the time. On the inside, Patrick was falling victim to a swirl of conflicted emotions. He was afraid of this being the zombie apocalypse. The end of the world was coming so soon. He was afraid of getting eaten. He didn’t want to get eaten or become a zombie. He just wanted to be Patrick Stump, lovable and sometimes sexy singer of Fall Out Boy. Then, thrown into the raging ocean of emotion, there was a slight happiness. He was with Gerard, and for that he was grateful. Who better to direct you through the wastelands of the city better than someone you get along with amazingly? And also think is kind of cute with basically every hair color?

 **  
**Patrick realised that he hadn’t answered Gerard’s question and searched his mind for an answer. There were many answers, but still he shrugged and looked at Gerard. Gerard nodded and continued on, “Pete’s house is just a bit away. We won’t have to walk for much lon--” Gerard stopped talking and sat incredibly still. Patrick frowned in confusion and followed Gerard’s gaze. A zombie was standing in the store, and she was looking right at them **.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! It'd mean a lot if you left any thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

The woman stood in front of the counter that Gerard and Patrick were sitting behind. She shuffled back and forth slightly, obviously unbalanced on her two feet. Or, foot and nub. Gerard’s words died in his throat and Patrick held his breath. He tightened his grip around his guitar, although he knew he wasn’t going to use it on her. She grumbled and growled and Patrick wanted to go home. Gerard inhaled slowly and hissed out a breath before slowly grabbing for his bat. She followed his hand with her gaze. Patrick looked down at his guitar and then back at the zombie. Maybe he was going to use it on her.

She launched forward and Gerard jumped out of the way. Patrick ducked to the side, letting out a yelp. The zombie was laying across the counter, reaching for Gerard. He went to hit her with his bat, but she grabbed his wrist. Gerard paled and froze. Patrick saw he wasn’t able to move, not with her hand on his wrist and obviously out of fear. He sent a silent apology to his guitar in his mind and smashed the guitar and her head. She fell, face first, and let go of Gerard’s hand, who quickly stepped over her body and stood beside Patrick. She didn’t move.

“Uh.. Thanks,” Gerard said, clearing his throat and rubbing his wrist. Patrick just stared at his guitar, “Uh huh.” He sighed. He hadn't wanted to ruin this guitar. It was his favorite one. He looked back at Gerard, “Are you okay?” Gerard nodded, “Yeah.” He chuckled, “Only a few minutes in and you already killed your first zombie. Good job, Stump.” Patrick scoffed, “At a price.” His guitar wasn’t bashed to bits, but it was definitely splintered. Not to mention gross and covered in head chunks. Gerard pat Patrick’s shoulder, “Thanks anyway.” Patrick smiled slightly, “I don’t want to personally witness you becoming a human buffet. I’d lose my own lunch.” Gerard chuckled, “Nice to know you’ve got your priorities in check.” Patrick chuckled, too. "Gerard, you've been so chill up to that point. What happened?" Patrick asked. Gerard looked to the floor and rubbed his wrist again, "Her grip was really tight.."

So they ditched the RadioShack, not really keen on the idea of becoming food or running into anymore zombies that thought they looked tasty. Looking up at apartment windows, Patrick could see faces. They were faces of people who had stayed inside. They were looking at him like him and Gerard were crazy. He waved. They waved back. Whenever he saw their faces, he couldn’t help but imagine what they were thinking about. They were probably wondering how long it’d take for them to get eaten. He looked down at the ground. There was blood on his shoes.

Their smelly disguises didn’t work as well now. They noticed this when, every minute or so, another zombie would turn its head and watch them go, maybe even follow them a bit, but never run after them. The most they could guess was the smell from the remains of the zombie in Patrick’s apartment was fading from their clothes. “Don’t worry,” Gerard whispered when they passed another curious corpse, “Pete’s house is in that neighborhood.” Patrick looked up from his feet, “Contrary to common belief, I go to my best friend’s house often. I know where his house is.” Gerard nodded, “Alright, alright.”

They came closer to Pete’s neighborhood and realised the number of zombies decreased the closer they got. Not really pausing to think about it, Gerard went up the steps and walked inside. Patrick walked in behind him and closed the door. He wondered why it wasn’t locked and decided to put the deadbolt in effect. “Pete! I got Patrick!” They heard running from a room somewhere in the house and soon Patrick was being suffocated in a hug by Pete. “Dude! So glad you’re okay!”

Patrick dropped his guitar and held him at arm’s length by his shoulders, “You led a zombie into my house!!” Pete’s relieved smile morphed into that of an apologetic one, “I didn’t know he was a zombie so really that isn’t my fault.” Patrick frowned, “You shouldn’t have made me hide a body in my coat closet any fucking way!” Mikey walked in during the confrontation and stood by Gerard who was watching it happen. "I asked you to do me a solid! The solid was done! It's as much your fault as it is mine!" Patrick let go of Pete, his hands moving with each syllable he spoke, "You're the one who killed the guy! You're the one who dragged your murder victim to my apartment! And why wasn't your door locked? You're gonna get us all killed! Look at that guitar, I had to bash a lady's head with it!"

Pete blinked, "So. Lunchbox, do you need to sit down?" Patrick did need to sit down, as a matter of fact. And so he did. Pete brought him a bottle of water and sat beside him while he cooled down. He didn't take any of Patrick's yelling to heart because the guy was just dragged through the streets of the apocalypse. Can't ask someone to speak as smooth as smooth jazz after that.

While Patrick calmed down, Gerard stepped forward, "So, why wasn't your door locked?" "We were waiting for you to come back with Patrick. We thought maybe someone could be chasing you or something, so we let you get in easy," Mikey said, sitting down in one of Pete's recliners. Patrick looked at Pete, who smiled his apologetic, sweet smile. They embraced each other in a bro hug. "Aw, how sweet," came a voice from the kitchen. In walked Frank, Joe, Ray, and Andy. Their bands were both all there. Too bad it wasn't for Warped. Pete clung onto Patrick as he tried to pull away and greet their friends.

"Lunchbox, please. I need a longer hug. It's been so long." Patrick looked at Pete with a raised eyebrow. Pete chuckled and pulled away, "I'll get my lovin's later." Patrick shook his head, smiling, and turned to everyone else, "Hey, guys." Gerard and Mikey seemed to be the only ones excited to be stuck in the zombie apocalypse. And also Frank. He was bouncing on his heels. "So. Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance brave the zombie apocalypse. What will happen!" Gerard said excitedly.


	4. Chapter 4

What will happen indeed. The Ways teamed up with the Short Punk Squad (Pete and Frank) and began to strategize. Patrick watched the four of them in the dining room from his spot in the living room with Ray, Joe and Andy. Patrick turned his head away and tried to listen to the other three's conversation.

"I'm just saying," Joe said, "If you're gonna waste your money on a perfectly good exotic animal, get a zebra. Zebras are badass." "Or, y'know, don't rip a wild animal from their home. That's a thing," Andy pointed out. "Yeah but, what if it was an endangered species and you were buying it for the good of its survival? To save it's life, Andy. Think about it," Ray said and Andy did. After thinking for a bit he nodded and accepted that that is a perfectly good reason to buy a zebra. "But only under those circumstances," he said and pointed at Joe accusingly. "Only those," Joe agreed.

"It amazes me that we're entrenched in the middle of the zombie epidemic our generation has been anticipating since like, forever, and you three are discussing animal rights," Patrick piped up and they looked at him. "Just because we've truly entered Zombieland doesn't mean we can be concerned about our environment or wildlife," Ray said. Patrick just shrugged. "Do we have to start calling each other places now?" Andy asked. Joe's arm shot up, " _DIBS ON FUNKY TOWN_." Patrick chuckled and Joe frowned at him while telling him how serious he is.

" _OKAY, BITCHES_ ," Pete shouted as he entered the living room, "We've derived a plan." "Devised," Patrick corrected. "I'm a successful poet, I know what I'm saying," Pete replied. Without missing a beat, he continued on with the plan they derived.

"For food! We will form groups and take trips to the convenience store down the street! For entertainment, we can have Gerard tell us about how he dressed in drag in college and all that that entails!" Gerard could be heard saying in a small voice, "I never said that..." "Any questions?. Pete asked. "A few," Patrick admitted. “Alright, shoot,” Pete said.

Patrick proceeded to ask important questions like, what would they do for electricity or if zombies got into the house? Or attacked one of them on their way to the convenience store. Weapons?

“What if we run into other people? They’re out there, me and Gerard saw them on our way here.” Pete shrugged, “We could wing it.” Patrick frowned and shook his head, “I seriously doubt the zombie apocalypse is the place for winging things. When there are walking corpses that have a taste for brains.” “Calm down, Lunchbox.” “That name doesn’t help my nerves. Like. At all.” Pete laughed, “Have faith in me!” “Last time I put my faith in you, a zombie busted out of my coat closet and Gerard had to kill it,” Patrick deadpanned, crossing his arms. This looked like it actually hurt Pete. He frowned and looked down at his shoes and then looked back to Patrick. “Well then, fine. If Gerard saved your ass and you can put your faith in him then he can lead your ass.” Patrick sighed, “Pete--” He was cut off by Pete walking away.

The air was awkward and still and no one spoke. Patrick groaned and slouched in his seat. Gerard cleared his throat to break the tension, “So uh. I’m not much for feeding the fire of a friendly feud. But we do need food. Anyone up to running to the convenience store real quick?” “Fuck yes!” Frank volunteered. “I guess I’ll go,” Patrick said. “Uh. Why?” Gerard asked. His eyes widened, “Not to sound rude or anything! I just. You didn’t seem to fond of the outside when we were on our way here so.. Yeah.” Patrick stood up, “Well, I want to help.” _And also kind of prove to Pete that I don’t need him_. But Patrick didn’t say that aloud. Gerard and Frank just kinda looked at each other and shrugged before looking back to Patrick, “Well okay.”

They waited until night. Ray said maybe they’d be sleeping and everyone laughed. “Do you ever see them sleeping in the movies?” Gerard brought up. The answer was no. “But we will be harder to spot,” Patrick says. They all agree and the plan is set. A bit after the sun goes down, they sneak out, with Gerard wielding his croquet bat, Frank a kitchen knife, and Patrick with his guitar. His poor, poor guitar.  
The convenience store was relatively close to the house. They could see it when they stepped off the porch. Looking every which way, none of the three spotted a zombie. Which could either be good or bad. They weren’t going to wait to find out. “Let’s go!” Gerard said in a harsh whisper. The unit of three made their way down the street to the convenience store with only a bit of trouble (Patrick was so nervous that he dropped his guitar out of his sweaty hands. The landing was fairly loud and they all looked around quickly to make sure nothing heard them as Patrick picked it back up and dropped it a second time.) The store was unlocked which meant one thing. There was a zombie somewhere in there.

It didn’t take them long to find him, the poor thing. The store clerk was badly mauled and not yet decomposing. But he was sickly pale and walking with such a crooked gait that the three could only assume the worst. “Would you do the bludgeoning honors?” Frank said while gesturing to the zombie for Gerard. Gerard shrugged, “I guess so.” Seconds later, the body was lying on the floor, honestly dead, and Gerard was covered in even more blood. Thankfully none of it was his own, so Patrick was grateful. “Alright, boys. Let’s grab some nibbles,” Frank said a little too enthusiastically in light of what just happened. They indeed grabbed some nibbles. For nibbling purposes. And soon they were out of there, Frank holding Patrick’s guitar and the knife while Patrick carried bags of food. Frank was in front of him and Gerard was behind him. It was for defense purposes because who wants to put the unprotected food hauler at the fucking back?

“Are you really mad at Pete?” Gerard asked. Patrick sighed, “No. Not as much as I am upset that he’s acting like a baby.” “Well, you did kind of roast him in front of all of us and told him that you don’t need him. Like, at all. That can be a bit disheartening,” Gerard offered. Patrick stayed silent for a bit before sighing again, “You’re right.” “What are you going to do?” Gerard asked. “I guess I’ll try to make amends when we get back,” Patrick replied with a shrug, and by doing so knocked a thing of twinkies out of an overflowing bag. “Shit..” He voiced and Gerard laughed, “Chill.” The emo meme lord of dank memes leaned down and grabbed it for him and tossed it back into the bag. “Do you want any help?” Gerard asked. Patrick shook his head with a small smile, “Nah. Thanks. I got it.” Gerard smiled back with his head tilted slightly downward to see Patrick’s face better, “Okay.” Patrick couldn’t help but smile wider and then hurriedly looked away. Frank had stopped walking a bit into their little exchange and watched from where he was standing. Patrick noticed and huffed, “What?” Frank giggled - he legit giggled, this man is adorable no wonder his fanbase is so massive (or was before everyone became something fresh jumped from a horror movie) - and shook his head, “Nothing, dude. Nothing at all.” The end of his sentence was in a sing song voice and Patrick squinted at him as the tiny, adorable Italian honest to God dude turned around. Eventually they got to the house unharmed, even though Patrick was glaring a hole into the back of Frank’s head the entire way.

“We bring food!” Gerard announced when they entered the house. Joe, Ray and Andy were both lying on the floor, looking bored out of their minds. Patrick dumped all the shit on the couch. “Where’s Mikey?” Frank asked. “With Pete,” Joe mumbled. “Did something happen?” Patrick asked, sounding slightly worried. Actually very worried. He kind of shouted. Andy had been sleeping up until that point. “No, nothing happened. Mikey just thought Pete was lonely pouting alone in his room,” Joe said. “Mhm,” Andy grumbled groggily. Gerard and Frank started sorting through the bag of food and Patrick decided to go up to Pete’s room and check on him, bringing back a Honey Bun just for good measure.

What should he do? Knock and then be like, “Oh hey how ya doin’? Do you hate me?” All quiet and shy? No. They were best friends, he knew better than to do that. He busted the door open, causing Mikey and Pete both to jump and nearly pull a Patrick and drop the guitars in their hands. He tossed the Honey Bun at Pete’s face (on accident) and then laid on the bed. “We back.” Pete chuckled, “I can see that. Thanks for the Honey Bun.” He tore open the wrapper and Mikey frowned, “I’m kind of hurt that you didn’t bring me one.” “Well, they’re in the living room. I grabbed a lot.” Mikey then dropped the guitar onto the bed next to Patrick and went downstairs. In a flash of swag and adorkable baseball cap. He was just a blur. And then he was gone.

“So uh..” Patrick started. “Yeah..” Pete said behind his Honey Bun. “Sorry,” they both said at the same time, causing them to laugh and Pete to have chunks of Honey Bun to fly from his mouth. “Ew..” Patrick grimaced. Pete chuckled and wiped his mouth, “Sorry.” “So. You’re still my best friend and I didn’t mean it when I said all that mean shit,” Patrick rushed to get the words out of his mouth. “Yeah and I’m sorry for pouting. Like a four year old,” Pete apologized. “Yeah, just because you’re the height of a four year old doesn’t mean you should act like one. Even if you can totally get away with it,” Patrick joked and Pete shoved him playfully. It was truly a best friend Kodac moment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter hoy! My computer has been out of service lately so I didn't get to update for the longest time, but here you go!

Patrick, Andy, Gerard and Mikey, and Ray all keep talking about how they think they should be getting a move on. Pete and Joe insist that everything is okay and they can just pull a Shawn of the Dead and wait it out, you can wait out the zombie apocalypse, right? Frank doesn’t actually care. The argument that they should probably leave is led by Patrick and Gerard, although Gerard is more outspoken about it than Patrick about it. Joe and Pete are completely blindsided by this and think that leaving the safety of the house is imbecilic.

  
“What do you think, Frank?” Gerard and Pete both ask Frank at the same time. Frank just shrugs, “I don’t give a shit. Either way we have a fifty fifty chance of living or dying.” “Way to be positive,” Joe says sarcastically. “And also negative at the same time,” Ray adds. Frank just shrugs again. “Pete, I’m not saying that your house isn’t safe. It is safe. For right now, at least. But who knows what will happen if we just wait out here,” Gerard tries to reason. Patrick, who was up for leaving (surprisingly), remembers all of the faces he saw peering out at him on the walk over here with Gerard. What was going to happen to them? Were they already dead? It had been weeks and still no one had come for them. So had anyone even gone to look for the people from then? He was guessing no.

  
“Gerard is right,” Patrick chimes in. Pete groans, “You’re on his side?” “This isn’t about sides. Has anyone come here on a rescue mission? Has anyone come knocking on the door, wondering if we’re okay? Asking if there’s any survivors?” “We aren’t survivors, there isn’t anything to survive,” Joe says, “This is just a sickness going around that we can wait out.” “Maybe we don’t seem like survivors because we’re not all dirty and gritty like you saw in the movies. But that’s because we’ve been waiting here, looking like a clean, shiny buffet for zombies,” Gerard says, getting sort of upset. “We’re okay here! We’re safe! The riskiest thing we have to do here is go on trips to the convenience store for food!” Pete says. “What about when the food fucking runs out? We’ll have to leave then anyway,” Gerard replies, looking mean. Pete is returning the glare.

  
Mikey puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder and trades looks between the both of them. “You two need to calm the fuck down. It’s getting late, so maybe we should all just sleep on it and talk about it tomorrow,” he says and feels relieved when Gerard nods after a while. Pete sighs, “Fine then. I’m going to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow.” “We definitely fucking will,” Gerard spits. The air is awkward as everyone walks to shared guest rooms. Mikey stays in the living room, paranoid.

  
The night is quiet, aside from the shuffling and growling coming from outside. He’s been staying up for a while now, listening to them. He’ll watch them from the windows. They never see him. Sometimes he thinks they do, though. One will pause and stare but just carry on growling and bumping into other mindless corpses. He’s sitting by the front door when he falls asleep. He doesn’t dream, he hasn’t been able to for a while. He doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. On one hand, no more nightmares, but on the other hand, it’s easier to wake up and he doesn’t want to wake up sometimes. It’s a scary world he lives in.

  
The smell of outside wakes him up. It’s pitch dark outside, with no light coming through the windows, not even that of the moon or stars. He stands up and jiggles the doorknob. It’s locked. And if someone were to open it and pass through, he’s pretty sure he’d notice. He checks the windows in the living room, all locked. Something is opened, though. The air isn’t musty like it’s been for the past week or so. He walks to Gerard’s room with caution and finds Frank draped over him. He nudges them both. They both groan like the undead and look at him with sleepy eyes. “You guys. Something’s in the house,” he says. They both jump up quickly. “Where?” Gerard asks, grabbing his croquet bat. Frank grabs his butcher knife. “I don’t know, I was asleep in the living room and I noticed it smells like someone opened a door or window.” Gerard handed his brother his hammer. “Stay behind me, Mikey,” Gerard says, being ever the protective older brother. Mikey doesn’t object and just stands behind Gerard with Frank. They stand by the doorway, too scared to look down the hall. Everything’s quiet. And then…  
They hear it. The low growl and raspy breath of a zombie. It’s feet shuffling through the hallway. “Oh fuck,” Frank breathes out. “Shh!” Gerard shushes him sharply. Mikey just listens to the noises coming from the hall. It’s getting closer. He sees Frank and Gerard tense up, getting ready to attack.

  
Down the hall, a door busts open and the group can hear Pete go, “Oh fuck,” before grabbing something and running down the hall and smashing the zombie’s brains in with a baseball bat (which turns out to be the something he grabbed). When the corpse is unmoving on the floor, Pete looks up at the trio of nervous punks. “How the fuck did this get in here!?” Mikey shrugs and Gerard and Frank just shake their heads. “Let’s close whatever door it came in here from and go back to sleep,” Pete says before a thud is heard from the living room, making all four of them jump. “Go wake up the others,” Gerard tells Pete. He nods and goes back to the other’s rooms, yelling and waking everyone up. Mikey, watching Pete go, doesn’t notice the zombie behind him about to launch for him and when he turns around, it’s too late.


	6. Chapter 6

Mikey turns around, but it’s too late. The zombie has launched for him. He can’t react, and just closes his eyes. The impact never comes. The bite never comes. He opens his eyes and brown, muddy blood splashes on his face as his big brother smashes in the head of the zombie that was after him. He can’t breathe and his heart is beating so fast. Gerard looks up at him, a fierce look on his face, “Don’t just stand there, Mikey! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” He sounds so far away. The room feels like it’s spinning. A hand lands on his shoulder. He turns to see the owner, and finds that it’s Pete. He’s pulling him to the side of the room, by a couch, as Joe, Andy and Ray run in. “Breathe,” he says.   
Mikey breathes, he takes a deep breath, and the world comes back into focus. His legs have feeling again, the air smells disgusting. Pete looks at the action with his hand still on Mikey’s shoulder to keep him steady. Everyone seems to have it covered. He looks back to Mikey and gives him a gentle smile, “Are you alright now?” Mikey returns the smile, still a bit shaky. He nods, “I’m good.” “We’re good, too!” Joe yells, throwing down his tire iron. The zombies are all down for the count. The room looks repulsive.   
Gerard drops his croquet bat on the ground, “We can’t stay here anymore.” He’s looking at Pete when he says it, and Patrick and Frank are on either side of him, nodding in agreement. Pete sighs and his hand slips from Mikey’s shoulder, “You’re right.” Gerard sighs in relief at his reply and smiles slightly. “We should leave today,” Pete says. “We can gather supplies from around the house and grab what we can from the convenience store,” Ray says. Frank continues for him, “Then it’s the fuck out of here.”   
***  
In the living room, there’s a pile of food, clothes, a first aid kit and a few things that could be used for self defense against the undead. “Where are we headed to?” Pete asks. The guys all look everywhere else but at each other. No one knows. Pete continues, “We could look for other survivors!” Andy mumbles, “If there even are other survivors..” Pete looks at him, frowning, “Thanks for that.” Andy just nods.   
“We could look for a huge prison that no one is using! And then, the huge gate surrounding the prison will keep intruders out!” Gerard suggests excitedly. Mikey just shakes his head, “Gerard. We don’t live in the world of the Walking Dead. I mean, we do, sort of. But our lives are not the comic book.” Gerard slumps. Joe speaks up, “I have an idea!” The group turns to look at him. He clears his throat, “Tour bus. Sanctuary on wheels.” There’s a few ‘huh’s and ‘hm’s and ‘maybe’s thrown around until Pete nods, “I like that idea!”   
So the two bands get on the tour bus that My Chemical Romance had prepared for their next tour and head for D.C.. Because there’s nothing the government can’t fix, right? They rarely get out of the bus because there’s zombies outside and that’s some scary shit. They run into people a lot, but no one’s rude because they’re all in hysterics and afraid of what’s happening. Coincidentally, all the zombie movie buffs are leading their groups to safety, and this makes Gerard very happy. He tells Pete that he should be the leader of the group for this very reason, which causes Pete to spin around in his seat and yell, “You’re not the only one who watches zombie movies, Gerard!” This causes Joe to look up from the road and into the rearview mirror and exclaim, “I will turn this bus around!” The two are quiet for a bit.   
In the end, they all die because the zombies spread at a crazy rate and become too powerful for the humans.   
The End.


	7. Author's Note

Hello! It's T, the author. I apologize for the abrupt ending, but I got so bored with this story. It became a chore to sit down and write. I have millions of other chapter 6 drafts, but I hated all of them. So, thanks for reading, and sorry for wasting your time. I have other stories that actually have endings or I'm actually working on real endings. So, go read those if you'd like.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Any sort of feedback would be appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> 10/26/17  
> abandoning ObviouslyIronman. it's been a good run. for my future works, please look for themvampwrites


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